The woollen yarn and the flaxen thread
Shall flare ’twixt living men and dead.
O what is the ending of your day?
When shall ye rise and wend away?
Our day shall end to-morrow morn,
When we hear the voice of the battle-horn.
Where first shall eyes of men behold
This weaving of the moonlight cold?
There where the alien host abides
The gathering on the Mountain-sides.
How long aloft shall the fair web fly
When the bows are bent and the spears draw nigh?
From eve to morn and morn till eve
Aloft shall fly the work we weave.
What then is this, the web ye win?
What wood-beast waxeth stark therein?
We weave the Wolf and the gift of war
From the men that were to the men that are.
So sang they: and much were all men moved at their singing, and there was none but called to mind the old days of the Fathers, and the years when their banner went wide in the world.